Kimono eBook

“But I’ve never been away without you!”
objected Geoffrey, “I think it would be beastly.”

This side of the question had not struck Asako.
She was so taken up with her project. Now, however,
she felt a momentary thrill of relief. She would
be able to give all her time to her beloved Japanese
home. Geoffrey was a darling, but he was so uninterested
in everything.

“It will only be for a few days,” she
said, “you want the change; and when you come
back it will be like being married again.”

CHAPTER XVIII

Dusk, it seems, has come
To the wood-cutter’s track
That is near my hut;
The voices of the mountainmen
Going down to the shed!

Geoffrey left early one morning in a very doubtful
frame of mind, after having charged Tanaka to take
the greatest care of his lady, and to do exactly what
she told him.

It was not until half-way up the steep climb between
Nikko and Chuzenji that his lungs suddenly seemed
to break through a thick film, and he breathed fresh
air again. Then he was glad that he had come.

He was afoot. A coolie strode on before him with
his suit-case strapped on his back. They had
started in pouring rain, a long tramp through narrow
gorges. Geoffrey could feel the mountains around
him; but their forms were wrapped in cloud. Now
the mist was lifting; and although in places it still
clung to the branches like wisps of cotton-wool, the
precipitous slopes became visible; and overhead, peeping
through the clouds at impossible elevations, pieces
of the mountain seemed to be falling from the grey
sky. Everything was bathed in rain. The
sandstone cliffs gleamed like marble, the luxuriant
foliage like polished leather. The torrent foamed
over its wilderness of grey boulders with a splendid
rush of liberty.

Country people passed by, dressed in straw overcoats
which looked like bee-hives, or with thin capes of
oiled paper, saffron or salmon-coloured. The
kimono shirts were girt up like fishers—­both
men and women—­showing gnarled and muscular
limbs. The complexions of these mountain folk
were red like fruit; the Mongolian yellow was hardly
visible.

Some were leading long files of lean-shanked horses,
with bells to their bridles and high pack-saddles
like cradles, painted red. Rough girls rode astride
in tight blue trunk-hose. It was with a start
that Geoffrey recognised their sex; and he wondered
vaguely whether men could fall in love with them,
and fondle them. They were on their way to fetch
provision for the lake settlements, or for remote
mining-camps way beyond the mountains.

The air was full of the clamour of the torrent, the
heavy splashing of raindrops delayed among the leaves,
and the distant thunder of waterfalls.